Highlights: Peppercorn and Silent Marriages

The other day, I bit into something with some ground pepper, and managed to bite down on what must have been a quarter of a peppercorn. As it crushed in my mouth, it tasted so green: violently, vibrantly green.

I think very little about spices: I like curry sometimes, and always garlic, but don’t pay much attention otherwise. Pepper has been on the table forever – it comprises a huge part of the world’s spice trade – and yet, until this week, I paid it little attention. It was delicious.

A thoughtful Modern Love essay: “No Sound, No Fury, No Marriage“. They say the surest sign of a doomed marriage is silence: and not the silence of a quiet afternoon or weekend, or the silence of a couple lounging by the pool together, reading their respective books – but silence that stretches for months. The kind of silence not broken by a: “Why don’t we ever talk anymore?” or a: “I’d really like it if we went out and did something fun.” or even: “I’m still upset about what happened last month.” In theory, one member does not say something, because they’re convinced the other member will ignore them or brush them off. This essay was one such account – of a marriage going silently into the grave.

The write quotes Shakespeare: “My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, or else my heart, concealing it, will break.” Which made me cringe. Shakespeare is the WORST for writing beautiful, eloquent lines for characters he later pillories (see also: the Merchant of Venice). That line is from Taming of the Shrew – it’s spoken by the shrew herself, who will ultimately be forced into submission to her husband. In the end, she speaks no anger, and is perfectly obedient, and as an audience, we’re to believe her heart has not broken, and this is a happy ending.